Demolition Lover
by Ophelia Davis
Summary: I can remember that first year on our path. We were so determined then, so determined to get our original bodies, no matter what the cost." That was until procrastination encircled his mind and no longer can he deal with life's heavy strain. Edward POV


Author's note: This was an idea that came into my head that I came up with. For now it will stay a one shot but I may add a proper story line to it in the future if I want to and when I'm not overly busy. Enjoy.

-Edward POV-

I can remember that first year on our path. We were so determined then, so determined to get our original bodies, no matter what the cost. We never gave in to the thoughts, at the back of our heads, that this endeavour may come to nothing but wasted exertion and the vulgar thoughts that this road was meant not for wanderers, for we may never tread from its path with our lives in tact. But still we carried on no matter what the hardships would be. That was years ago. I was 12 years old and Alphonse was 11. But, now, we are older. We throb with maturity, or at least we think so. I'm used to acting out my duty as an older brother to fulfil my promise, even taking the trouble to carve the little message on the inside cover of my pocket watch "03 Oct. 1911. Don't Forget", so that the message was always there as my constant reminder. I even put on a good show of fake emotions whenever I possibly could, pretending that nothing matters but this goal, pretending that there's nothing in our way but… that act felt so real, so believable when I wrote out that script for myself but, now, I just can't seem to believe in those words anymore or the directions that are given to me in the brackets, or the orders given by the strict director in the back of my head, formerly known as my conscience.

That determination I had from the start has long since worn out its welcome and… what replaces this once truthful fortitude? … Procrastination. It's all that's there now. The only reason I'm still carrying on with this, what should I call it? _Worthless_ task is because I have not been overcome by the slothfulness to give up already.

I know this goal has been all that's mattered to me and especially Al but I feel like my will is running out. There doesn't seem to be much left for me anymore. My life has been seemingly wasted on this crusade and my efforts dissipated to the chilling winds. But this world is so full of obstacles and speed bumps that I can't bear it anymore. This burden has just been weighed down on my shoulders for far too long and I just feel like my body can no longer take the strain, this strain that has gotten me nowhere near the end of our goal.

The only thing that seems to have come of it is the arrival of that damn bastard Van Hohenheim! He came back after all this time and expects some sort of relationship with his sons? He's in no obligation to do that! We found him in Central a few days ago and now he's living in a hotel with us. Well, I wasn't the one who found him; Winry was when she came to Central in order to fix my auto-mail; so she's with us too.

But even with this encouragement I still can't seem to find the strength inside myself to carry on. These thoughts keep weighing heavy on my mind along the already diluted judgements of procrastination and depression. They're always the same. They keep me awake until the morning hour with strange ideas. What would it be like if… if I were to rid myself of this strain now? I now the others would be sad and they would miss me but… they have no right to tell me what to do with my life! This life is my responsibility and mine so it's also mine to take away… right?

I can't stand my father. But, luckily, he's not here now. Alphonse and Hohenheim have gone out for the day in Central, I guess to catch up on some news. I guess Alphonse may still like him but that doesn't mean I should either.

I guess today is the day. The thoughts that have been entertaining my mind throughout those long nights are now coming to fruition. With Alphonse out of the way, there is nothing to serve as a distraction. With him there, or with him knowing, I know I'd never be able to work up the courage to go out of my way to do it. Winry will still be in the hotel, which I know of, but with some music turned up high, she won't be able to hear my every move and, by the time she finds out, it will be too late.

I hate to admit this to myself but today is my time to die. I know I can't be anymore prepared than now to know what death would be like, but that is a notion that is never really known before hand and a documentation that has never been taken down on paper from the mind of those who are in the midst of this experience and on the brink of death, the thoughts of writing it down are naturally the last thing on your mind.

With a piece of note paper in my hand, I scribble down words on its smooth surface, taking down the thoughts, which I know I would like to share with this world before my transition into the next.

"Alphonse, the truth is… this determination to get our bodies back for me has been absent. I just can't see a way towards that path anymore. It's hopeless. With me out of the way I know you'll be free to think without this always-immediate burden to return to a flesh body. And I hope that the will to live does not dissipate from your body like it already has mine. I'm sorry for the trouble that I've caused you.

Good bye, nii-san."

It's written now and screwing up the paper to try and write it down again later would be useless if Alphonse did end up finding the remnants. Now though, is it my time already?

Switching on the radio in my room, voices chime through the speakers. Swivelling the knob on the contraption, I find my wanted channel. The music channel always has some perfect articles of songs for times like this, one for each perfect moment. One of these songs chimes through without falter. The band is "My chemical romance". They have my perfect idea of the atmosphere intended. One known song rings through, reverberating from the walls and into my ears, "Demolition lovers". It always was my favourite. What better way to leave this place then with a familiar song in my ear? Switching the volume up high, I know that Winry will be deafened of what actions will come next. Will she even notice?

With a new rush pumping through my veins, I dig through my suitcase; I find it. It lies there covered and bound by leather to stop the blade from losing its sharpness. Sliding it out from its bind, the metal gleams off the blade and onto my face. Tears grip at my face, forcing the dams to break and them to drip down my cheeks. I'm sorry Alphonse. So sorry that I couldn't be a better brother, for I know you deserve more. But with Hohenheim here, you have a guardian here for you. At least I'm not leaving you alone; I'll grant myself that at least.

My hearts beating faster in my chest, thumping as if it's going to out-beat the music of the radio and, taking up the knife, I test it carefully. And, with only a gentle brush across one of my left hand fingers, already droplets of scarlet drip from the slice and plop to the floor. There, everything is perfect. The knife is perfect, this situation is perfect and my timing to leave is perfect.

On my knees now and with clenched eyes, I hold the handle in my right hand, bracing myself as my left hand shakes with a want for disobedience. I know it'll hurt but it's my only ticket out of here. No pain… no gain. Muffled shouts breach my ears from the other side of the wall. Somehow, I knew she would complain from the noise, but it won't matter once I'm gone. She'll forget the protest and only I'll be in her mind, Winry, my childhood friend. She's always been there for me even when I deliberately forget to update here on our current situation. I know I shouldn't, after all her endeavours for my sake but it's too late now. I knew I should've thanked her for the auto-mail in my note but it was made out to my brother. She should know how grateful I am for it. I always make that clear. What would be the point to repeat my manners like I have done so many times before?

But… she really has come through for me. If there's anything I'm going to regret in my last breath, if not completing my brother's goal and mine then, it would be that… I've always forgotten to tell her my true feelings for her. Her blond hair, those big blue eyes and that smile too that I would always use as an excuse for myself to forget this mission of self-destruction. I guess, in truthfulness, I really AM an ungrateful bastard. She really does deserve better than this piece of trash named Edward Elric. But if I had, if only once, gotten to kiss those soft lips, then I know would be able to leave here satisfied; again, too late, no time and no point in regret.

Finally, with my eyes clenched again in readiness, I slice the metal hard through the palm of my hand. All thoughts of bitter depression are soon chased away by the sweet taste of searing anguish through my veins as the scarlet lies come pouring from my hand rapidly leaving them to stain the carpet. If I had another regret, it would be that I forgot to put a damn sheet down, and then I could have saved the hotel owner the trouble of trying to get out the stains after letting us stay here. I really am an ungrateful bastard. I guess if he knew this would be my deathbed then he would've kicked me out anyway. No point for complaints. This is what I want, what I need and what I yearn for. If nothing else then this is it.

I draw the blade once again through my skin, feeling the appreciation of another blood release by my blessings in the form of not very well held back screams. I want to bottle up these screams so that Winry won't have to hear my wretched sin but there's no point now. My tuneless song of my last breath has already started and I won't silence myself now on the term of a bad introduction. Again I draw across and more blood gleams in the light of the day and my screams of tenderness ring through and above the noise of the radio. This is a good start but I need to get better! I need to draw it across the major veins! I need to awaken the blood from its normal bore of thumping through the veins, the arteries and capillaries with laziness on the count of my breath! My wrists! My throat! Anything to strike a jugular vein! It has to end without distraction now! No more regrets! No more heartache because of my procrastinating sorrow! This has to end!

Now my wrists are my prey as the blessings of tears roll down my cheek in audible sobs. I strike the surface at first, hissing from the new area of tenderness but, the blade cuts deeper into my now stained skin. Seeing the blood, I can't help now but brush and stir it across my face like a mark of suffering at my own hands as if it would make up for my long lived penitence. I take in the iron stench and breathe it as it boils and livens my nerves.

Suddenly, a thud on the door and it strikes out hard. I know its Winry. But I try to remain oblivious to the sounds that try and interrupt my last radio song and my own song that has never before been recorded. I guess now she's part of the bridge right before the chorus. She'll make a good addition as part of the chords… or drum beat perhaps even if it's out of time. That won't matter. It just adds to the uniqueness of my last moments. If only she knew the door was unlocked already.

"Edward? What are you doing in there? Edward!" I can hear her cries clearly through the wood. If I had put a do-not-disturb sign on the knob would she have not bothered knocking? She probably still would have. It's only right for her to worry I guess.

The blade strikes deeper into my skin. I could take another slash and go for the main artery. But still, holding it to my throat, I quickly decide against it.

With a loud bang, the door is freed from its restraining hold in the doorway and so thuds against the wall adjacent to it. Her eyes fall onto my pitiful form with surprise, quickly transforming to fear and finally, a want to free me from this desire. She runs to my side, trying with racked sobs to free the blade from my auto-mail hand, prying the steel fingers from my wooden prize. But my body already feels weak and I give up easily, letting it drop to the floor with a resounding ting.

Tears overtake her words and fall down her cheeks as mine were doing. But I've been crying so I already know that they're red and puffy, apart of course from the bloody mess on my face from my wrist blood.

"Y-You were committing… suicide?" Came her weak and feeble words. Her voice was always a vision of calm if it wasn't so often erratic. I forgot that quality. A beautiful voice. Often I would use it to lull me to sleep by the manufacturing of a thought, of her singing a lullaby. If I'd used that trick just now then, maybe, it would have helped me lull off into a peaceful and more permanent rest.

"Why Edward? WHY?" She cries for her answers as her face of sorrow and fear mixes with that of anger.

I don't know want to say anymore. Was there truly a motive? Or was I just driven by my procrastination? Or was I… just being a coward?

"I-I… don't know." I whisper through my still stinging pain, the one that's in my hand and wrist.

"How could you think of leaving Alphonse? Leaving all you've done? Leaving… Leaving me?" was that a love proclamation? What could she find in this body of mine to love apart from the auto-mail that she herself has sculpted onto my body? Why does she think I'm worth anything at all? It's a self-induced lie if she thinks so. "I-I…"

"Y-Yes?" Comes my wonder. I know what she wants to say but to hear it from her lips alone and not from Director Conscience and Executive producer Thought would seem like the greatest outro to the last few notes of this melody.

"…Love you." Those are the words I want to hear. But for once, to be loved by someone and for him or her to want my existence so badly is worth something I guess. If it's all I need for a drive of life then I guess it'll be my steering wheel from now on.

The words still echo about my head like a great messenger and, once my realisation kicks in, more sobs spring out of my throat and now proper cries from the thoughts that once rotted at my brain are being driven away. My knees won't hold me up any longer and, they wear out their strength, and I fall into her arms. She catches me from a fall to the floor and holds me back up on my knees, supporting me. I can feel myself grow light-hearted and my surroundings start to spin with dizziness. This must be the blood loss kicking in. I don't want to die anymore. How could I… have been so stupid? To think my problems would end with my silencing? That's a coward's way of thinking but… I just hope Winry will be in enough time to save me. Just three simple numbers will ensure that. I'm certain.

"Please." I plead. "Don't let me… die." More tears roll from my eyes and in my state of weakness, I know I can no longer be supported by her arms. I fall once again and, this time, onto those soft lips I had once regretted not kissing.

I have always heard of people referring to a life-saving technique as the kiss of life. Now, I know what they mean. This is truly the kiss of life. No amount of dictating from my once drawn up script could have foreseen this little scene. And neither would I have wanted it to. I'm free from these shackles of restriction because of Winry. Because of her, I can truly feel alive once again.

On the brink of death, life always exists and, there's always a choice. You can always stretch for it and grab for life while you can, or embrace another grip, the one of death. So… do I stretch or embrace? Both. I stretch for life and embrace my love, which has brought me FROM Death's eternally cold grasp.

Author's note: Any thoughts? This is one of my first attempts to write a story in first person and the first fan fiction to get uploaded on here for me that is a first person so I want your reviews on how well I did. With this break between Second Heartbeat and the sequel I want thoughts and ideas on how I can get better at writing for when I start the sequel. Thanks for reading it.

Ophelia Davis


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